Estacado Shuffle
by Harlequin de Rustre
Summary: This is the story that answers the begged question: what will make the story of Witchblade more different: Shiori being alive or Jackie Estacado blowing stuff up? WARNING: Weird OOC moments! I'm very sorry!
1. First Encounter

A bit of waffle I created while aching over a keyboard while finishing up the steaming masterpiece I'm also submitting today… Merry Christmas…

Please read this fanfiction carefully, because there are many important parts, even during the songs. If you just skip over parts of this relatively short piece, you will miss a lot. Don't just scan for the juicy bits, assholes; I know you're out there, `cause I've committed this error before. Anyways, enjoy, and remember to laugh your ass off…

I don't own Witchblade or The Darkness. If I did, I would have had Jackie Estacado drop in to kick in Maria's teeth.

"Guh. Tokyo. Okay, guess I'll be paying you now, old timer," the young man grunts.

The boatman looks at him strangely. For the past hour or so, he had to ferry this one man across Tokyo's Graveyard Bay whilst vaguely listening to his "patron" ramble on incoherently about random topics, stopping every soften to swear or mutter to himself, topics ranging from cheese to Russian automobiles making a strong comeback to Brazilian girls and their strange appetites in and out of bed, after having this self same man board the boat from out in the middle of the water and hold him at gunpoint while crabbing off in what he could only assume to be some Western language before suddenly talking in clear, educated Japanese demanding passage with dire consequences upon any kind of contact of authorities or refusal of services. Shortly after a rough agreement was made, the castaway plunks down and rests peacefully (if travel through a nasty body of water with an allegedly wanted man striking up a dodgy almost-one-sided conversation about breasts, alcohol, and how brains splatter in the wind with lots of swearing as the only sign of punctuation can be called peaceful) for the haul to the above "sea"-level remains of Tokyo.

"Really?" the old Japanese ferryman half-states jovially, "I thought you were gonna do away with me when we got near the shore…"

"Don't make me change my mind. I'm getting off, I'll be paying you, and you'll live to see your 200th birthday. Everyone's happy, capisce?"

The tall, dark-dressed 20-something American rises in a smooth, yet somehow herky-jerky fashion. He grins. "We all have to get along in this small world, don't we? Here's some money, `cause I'm outta here…"

The dark man tosses some paper money at the ferryman, then jumps the side of the boat before the gangplank has a chance to be set on the dock.

He glances down at the strange assortment of different colored bills, and picks them up. A vein pulses on his temple.

"Hey! These aren't even in yen, you freeloading jackass," The old man bellows after the retreating form of the strange youngster.

Turning around while running, the stowaway yells back "The amount should be probably 34 rubles, 9 Euros, 25 guineas, 14 shillings, 202 dollars, and 40, exactly, pesos. The amount, with the current economy, is about 17503 yen. Just get to a money exchanger!"

Stunned, the old man blinks down at the paper pieces fluttering in his hands. It _was_ a rather thick wad of "green".

Huffing and puffing in the summer breeze, the Italian-American rogue strafes around corner to come to stop just beyond a nice-looking food stand, the smell of which he'd been tracking across the docks.

Stopping, not to catch his breath, but rather to take in the view, he thinks about what he should order. After finalizing his choices, he steps up to the counter.

"I would like to order a gourd crepe. Heard that they were pretty good in Tokyo…"

The man behind the counter sniffs. "I don't serve crepes here. I'm not a pastry man and you're thinking of Harujuku, over in fucking Shibuya. I serve ramen here, you wastrel, and that's all it's gonna be. Unless you want Korean dumplings, which no one seems to care for anymore?"

He then mutters to himself something about "nasty Western pastries" and the "ruination of Japan".

Without missing a beat, the new patron orders two bowl of seafood ramen with five sides of meat dumplings, startling the ornery cook. "But easy on the salty stuff, it's kinda hard for me to swallow right now…"

Whilst waiting, he pulls out a beat-up, yet rather expensive-looking mp3 player with a polygonal "Z" on the back of it, then produces a clunky pair of studio headphones and jacks those into the black device. He puts on the headgear, then punches the "Play" button. He listens to the infectious poppy tune by a cute UK music star.

_When we were growing up you always looked like you were having such fun  
You always were and you always will be the taller and the prettier one  
People seem to love you  
They gravitate towards you  
That's why I started to hate you so much  
And I just completely ignored you_

I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
_I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
_

He bobs his head to the side with the infectious beat, letting himself unravel…

_I've been so evil with my constant invasions  
But you made it so easy for me  
You always rise to the occasion  
I'll always pull you up on every stupid thing that you say  
But I found it so entertaining  
Messing around with your head_

_I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
_

For such a cute tone, the lyrics are rather "real" and mature. It goes with the mood, after all. The cook ladles the meat into the two chipped porcelain bowls and casually tosses them onto the eating counter with some equally ramshackle chopsticks.

"Dig in I'll…" the music volume drowns out a bit of the man's quiet voice in and out. "… -o enjoy. And turn down the music, you… mi-… -our hearing…"

_This is not just a song  
I intend to put these words into action  
I hope that it sums up the way that I feel to your satisfaction  
_

The twenty-something pushes the long ebony locks invading his eating space, disregarding the broth on the ends, and starts shoveling the contents into his piehole.

_I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start_

The song ends. "Guh; Replay," the young man says, and punches the "Back" button once on his ZINE.

The bouncy beat filters into his ears again. "Much better…"

_When we were growing up you always looked like you were having such fun  
You always were and you always will be the taller and the prettier one  
People seem to love you  
They gravitate towards you  
That's why I started to hate you so much  
And I just completely ignored you  
_

The old man sticks on the counter three servings of dumplings, in oddly well-kept containers. He starts at the vigor with which his customer downs the noodles and pork, exclaiming in audible language "Jesus, are you sure you're not Japanese?"

The younger man glances up, the corners of his mouth quirking, "Definitely." He downs the broth of both bowls and starts on the dumplings, expertly flicking them into his unquenchable maw.

_  
I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
_

Just as the third container was downed, the later two arrive.

With a quick "Thanks", the long haired man commences flicking the dumplings into his mouth, barely pausing to chew.

_  
I've been so evil with my constant invasions  
But you made it so easy for me  
You always rise to the occasion  
I'll always pull you up on every stupid thing that you say  
But I found it so entertaining  
Messing around with your head_

I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
Go back to the start  
Go back to the start  


Taking his time finishing the last of the admittedly delicious, protein-rich morsels, he thinks back to his purpose for coming here. Almost pitching the last one over his shoulder due to his remembering the factor of time he'd nearly forgotten, he twists his head at a near unthinkable and most certainly unreal speed and snaps it up, downing it with a little tonguework and a swallow.

_  
This is not just a song  
I intend to put these words into action  
I hope that it sums up the way that I feel to your satisfaction  
_

"Right, then. So how much do I owe you for the meal? By the way, thank you; it was very delicious."

The stunned cook swallows nervously and says "I'm never going against you in a food eating contest," Shaking his head, he continues, "that will cost you about 400 yen. Business is rough, so I can't charge more than the materials used."

The energetic customer grins, "Alright, then."

He dips a hand inside his leather duster coat, producing a rather ancient-looking and large wallet that had very evident bullet holes and even a few bullets stuck in the metal edging. "Four hundred, right? Here," the younger man somehow takes a plump-looking silk purse from the wallet and hands it to the older man. He gets up, and takes off like a shot.

The proprietor of the makeshift draws a breath through his slightly parted lips as the opening of the bag shows a glint of what is undeniably gold. Rushing out from behind the counter, he yells for the strange he got to know in the seven or so minutes that he served him, "This isn't the amount I wanted! Hey! Jackass!"

The strange man calls back over his shoulder "I know!; but your eyes told me you needed more! Smell ya later, old-timer!"

_  
I don't know why I felt the need to keep it up for oh so long  
It's all my fault I'm sorry you did absolutely nothing wrong  
I don't know why I felt the need to drag it out for all these years  
All the pain I've caused you  
The constant flow of all the tears  
Believe me when I say that I cannot apologise enough  
When all you ever wanted from me was a token of my love  
And if it's not too late  
Could you please find it deep within your heart  
To try and go back go back to the start  
Go back to the start_

When the youngster's retreating shape totally disappears from sight, the old man finally looks down at the bag and grins. Things were looking up.

The young man walks along the real Tokyo Bay, agitated. Was he off? Oh, Lord!

A pulse of polluted grey energy cuts through his panic.

He grins; maybe not….

His gaze snaps to a distant blue-edged figure, certainly female even at this distance, which jumps and starts traveling across the water. He raises an eyebrow. This is certainly going to be interesting…

He, too jumps to the water, but instead opts against the "Jesus Routine", rather preferring a strong, professional breaststroke, eating up the distance anyways.

A boat in the middle of the Bay stands, anchored. All of a sudden a crash and a yell is heard. A sodden young man starts swearing in the water 1000 yards away.

The blue invader is met by a gunmetal grey and black clad fighter, also a female. The swearing thickens, and the man in the water screams "To Hell with modesty!" and throws something into the air that creates shadows where no shadows should reside.

Somehow climbing upon the surface of the water, the sodden rogue puts forth his hands, and a path of what seems to be upraised clawed hands rises from the suddenly dark waters. Not taking the time to see that the full path is made to the boat, the man starts sprinting at an unbelievable 50 miles per hour, and he bursts with greater speed to close the distance to the boat.

The two "warriors" clash, and two men quickly make themselves known, firing guns at the blue one. Even with this help, the red-headed one is sent into the water by the time the swarthy young man reaches the boat and makes a momentous leap, surpassing the railing by a clear foot. He lands with a roll between the womanly infidel and one of the defenders, a man with a scar upon his right eye and a strong jaw.

To say that everyone was surprised that some random person came sailing through the air like an Olympic record-breaker right in the middle of a dangerous fight is putting it mildly. Dusting himself off, the pale, yet healthy, unshaven face of the second boarder of the boat appears, mild disgust written across his face.

He glances over at the general area where the other combatant was tossed. "You call it effort; I call it embarrassing."

He looks back at the rather manic (and oddly attractive) female fighter "Alright, Xena, come quietly or there'll be consequences," he bluntly states.

As if he wasn't there, she breathily intones "Takayama… Reiji. The doctor's lover."

Her blue armor splinters, then reforms into a deadlier, yet more brittle structure which indistinctly hums and glows with free-flowing energy. The man fires at her, and she pounces on him.

Or, at least, that would have happened if not for the newest passenger, who takes the chance to yank her out of the air by one of her new form's hair-appendages, tossing her like a rag against the railing. He glances back at the named man, Takayama.

"Get inside the cabin, you fool! That goes for your yes man over there. You know not what whores these Cloneblades be!"

Takayama starts "But—"

"No!" the dirty savior bellows, "Git yer ass outta here! I know what I'm doing, 'Mr. Millennium Man' and I don't need an ignoramus in the ways of a crazy woman! Out, NOW!"

"Wh—"

"NOW, DAMMIT!! Go before I shoot you and put you out of my misery." The younger man punctuates by whipping out a nasty-looking weapon and blasting a scorch mark into the ground near Takayama's feet

The two men concede and rush for safety.

The red-headed combatant from before finally hauls herself out of the water, stating "Keep out of this! This is my fight!"

The ebony-haired man glares at the latest carrier of the Witchblade. "No, it isn't. Your thoughtless fighting almost got your little beau raped by little miss 'worship my superior's footsteps' over there." The woman's eyes widen in shock, gasping.

He grimaces. "Oh, please, you idiot. And _**YOU**_, "the sour man spits, "How could you pick such a weak, plain-minded milkmaid of a girl?"

The woman, named Masane, starts "Wha…?"

"Not _you_," the irritated man grates, "the one who's currently sticking your body like a bad date. Yes you, you disgraceful shit. The lone man grimaces. "I remember from memories past when you'd clothe only the greatest. Pollyanna. Jeanne D'Arc. Helen of Troy. Now look at you; some ditzy fop of a commoner. Not even a thoughtful one, simply some orphan without a practical bone in her body. Honestly, you ingrate."

A scraping, almost whining wail that seems to permeate the area. The two women jump at the sound, whereas the stranger remains totally unfazed, even modestly annoyed at the commotion. "Oh, shut up; I don't want to hear it. I—Not even but, now— Be silent! Go to your room!"

The Witchblade acts up, fully encasing Masane Amaha from head to toe in sheeted dark metal, covering all save for the lightly glowing eyes, and moves her limbs against her will, frogmarching her into the cabin, and disengaging once inside.

Now alone, the man turns to the girl with the Cloneblade, now upright again.

"It's just you… and me… and alll the Adam I can- wait, wrong line. Now, as I said, come peacefully and obligingly, and things will go smoothly. Like shit through a goose, as it were. So don't give me trouble, bitch, I am going to save your life."

The woman murmurs, her voice and tenor slowly gaining in voice and bloodlust. "Rrh. Must take… I feel… There is a… GIVE ME YOUR **BLOOD! **NyAHH!" She leaps, madness giving her speed.

He sighs. "It is just as well. Come, then."

The Cloneblade bearer slashes in a frenzy, the man dodging the attacks with a calculated, yet tired skill.

"Hahh," she mouths passionately, "I love this aching battle, yes…"

The young rogue raises an eyebrow. "You lack coherency, fraulein," he observes, dodging a thrust at his carotid artery. "I will fix that soon."

She howls lustily, and bites at his collarbone, the strike missing by millimeters. "Hm; maybe you aren't so hopeless."

The man Chinese splits, hooks a leg around her foremost ankle, and swipes her off her feet, spinning and swiping his other leg counterclockwise just to be sure. Then, he mounts her fallen form, sitting on her abdomen, brings his left forearm under her chin and reaches for her own left wrist. He studies the blue jewel planted there, watery in quality, and takes in the multitude and depth of the chinks and cracks in her armor. The Cloneblade bearer struggles against her opponent's grip.

He begins a shadowy cant. "Ich verbanne Ihren Aufruhr, und fordere Ihren Dienst zu sich selbst, o elender Stahl heraus--"

The blue assailant gets in a good shot and throws off her oppressor. The swarthy man grins. "Not as exceptionally bright as the first child, but certainly more obedient and thoughtful. Sadly, the spite is almost incredible. This Edge needs some sharpening…"

As before, a keening is heard, but on a lower octave, and with a smoother warbling quality. She blinks, and then rushes the tormentor. "BLEED! GUSH!"

"Έχετε καταδικαστεί με την άγνοιά σας! Ελάτε, και θα είστε καθαροί." The dark man utters. The Blademaiden hooks up with the edges on her arms in a deadly improvised uppercut.

He dodges, and then whispers to Cloneblade itself "Nie przemieszczają. Ja tylko chcą leczyć was."

The armor shudders, then glows brighter and changes form, becoming a bonelike structure. The spry vagrant grins. "Bingo."

"Die!" She screams, and the Cloneblade sister charges him.

This time, he's totally prepared, and so makes a move, getting inside her defense and again sends her to the ground. The strange man straddles her like before, but instead simply grips her left arm, staring intently at the nexus of power and the seat of the soul of the Cloneblade. "Born sick and made sicker. You should be treated better. At least the bearer suits you, even if she is mentally insufficient. Now open, little bud."

The girl shrieks, clawing with her free hand, cloying at her tormentor's face. The keening again resumes, but more frank and succinct in tone.

"Yes, she is silly, isn't she? I wanted to keep from doing this," The man begins, re-grasping the left hand, outstretching the sharp index blade. "But…" He purposefully slices his thumb at the tip, making a small, clean cut that near instantly welled with deep dark green blood, reddish wisps within the black. "…It must and should be done…"

Outstretching his bleeding digit, he holds it above the forcibly prostrate Sister's snarling mouth, and a single, perfect drop falls from it, a sinister black orb. The blood lands perfectly in the center of the girl's writhing tongue, and is unwillingly swallowed. The writhing of the Cloneblade bearer stills almost instantly, giving way to shallow, gusty breathing (which is attractive, but that is off-subject) and a desirous calm.

"Now, then," the dark man says, "sit still like a good girl. I will heal your weapon."

With heavy-lidded eyes, he tends to the wounds deep within the juncture where the woman and her personal arsenal join. Cursing silently at the clumsiness of the union, he sets about fixing the mistake of Man.

He begins the Renewal, muttering the mantra set for the process, and shields the effected area from the light, and thus commences the healing.

Oddly, the mantras bring a song to mind.

"_**Your favorite, Jackie…"**_ an inner voice observes

'You mean yours, you old reptile. I like German, but you're the sucker for that Gregorian crap… not to mention thrash music. Jeez…'

_Aenigma depravatio est. _

_Aenigma crudelitas est._

The mantras roll off his teeth in waves, the dark powers at work stitching closed the soul-wounding fissures. The girl moans is sustained ecstasy ("Hold still, dammit.").

_Aenigma. _

_Aenigma._

_Aenigma depravatio est. _

_Aenigma crudelitas est. _

_Herr, hilf mir mein Schicksal tragen. _

_Warum sehe ich all Plagen? _

_Diese Last die Kräfte bricht. _

_Tag und Nacht. _

_Die Bilder Thronen in den Augen der Visionen. _

_Jedoch helfen kann ich nicht. _

_Ich bin Der Prophet._

"Alright, we're making some headway…" the unkempt wastrel observes, shifting to keep the sunlight from rupturing the Dark Threads.

_Aenigma depravatio est. _

_Aenigma crudelitas est. _

_Aenigma depravatio est. _

_Aenigma crudelitas est. _

_Conspiratio obscura est. _

_Conspiratio letiefera _

_Conspiratio obscura est. _

_Conspiratio letiefera_

He spreads a rather unassuming crack in the skin, exposing a string of angry blue-white blisters, resplendent in their cancerous cruelty. More curses, and the man sets about expunging the unholy pustules, funneling enough energy into them to pop a snow tire.

_Erde, Wasser, Luft und Feuer. _

_Angst und Schrecken, Fegefeuer. _

_Stellen sich, mir in der Weg._

_Schwarze Rosen, Todesstacheln der Dämonen siegeslachen. _

_Tief ins Herz hinein gesät. _

_Ich bin der Prophet. _

The infectious tissues fester and bleed, and are cleansed by the shadows commanded by the vagrant. He pulls out an obsidian knife, and digs out the pits left by the sores, eliciting a shockingly elaborate sequence of oaths in Polish from the girl, before a lapse back into moans in Japanese as the bleeding stops and the wounds begin to become shallower.

_Aenigma depravatio est. _

_Aenigma crudelitas est. _

"Almost donnnnnnnnne…." The man says to himself. The cabin door cracks open, and he looks up. "Couldn't wait, eh, Chief?"

Further opening the door and stepping out, Takayama stands in badly concealed nervous anticipation. "No, I can't say I would have stood it for much longer.'

"Hold on, I'm almost through this…" The unkempt stranger grins, eyes glowing yellow.

Reiji starts, taking a quick step back. "You're not human!"

The vagrant smiles wider. "You could say that." He bows his head and continues his work.

A bead of sweat travels down the back of Takayama's neck.

_Ich bin der Prophet. _

_Der, der die Zeichen versteckt..._

_Ich bin der Prophet. _

_Der, der den Schrecken sät..._

The mantras rattle and peter out, and the man nearly flops over, tired enough to sleep for an age. Bearing it, he lifts himself up onto his own two feet, satisfied with his work.

Takayama is close to fainting from the display before him. "Who are you?... What- what **are** you?"

The dark man smiles grimly, meeting the Bureau Chief of DGI's gaze through heavy lidded eyes "I… am Jackie Estacado, Jackie for short, Jack if you're an asshole… and call me Sasuke if you can't manage 'Engrish', and I am… the host to the world's oldest evil…"

The recently healed Tsuzuki Shiori, still not having come down from her erotic high from Jackie's sweet, sweet blood, throws dignity and personal preferences to the wind, activating her Cloneblade (now in regular form) and pouncing the weary man, intent on fucking his brains out.

Yeah, this is some moderate fantasy that's been running through my mind for a few months now. Took me about eight hours total to write, broken up with bathroom breaks, eating, cleaning dishes the medieval way, and general spazzing-out to Lily Allen, Al Yankovic, and En Nomine.

The only thing that really hitched in the process was the verbatim reproduction of the lyrics on paper. I copied it down from a website with the lyrics, but then I had to go and reconfigure the lyrics to how the song really goes, seeing as even the fan website is filled with raging assholes who can't think to be helpful and put it down like a goddam script so we can sing along to the epic song. Bastards, I swear.

Next crappiest part was the different languages. I did this in other fics because, hey, regular English sucks and just saying "and he spoke the following in Greek" is pretty damn gay and tired, in my own opinion. The big kicker with this is that I had to make sure the words translated back the way they were put down, so this ate up a few hours, even with my fantastically heavenly bandwidth…

Remember: this is a drabble, very easy to write, and I'll willingly continue this for any kind of reviews and/or money. Not that I'm gonna get paid for my amateur crap, but a guy can dream.

I hope I got the tone right, seeing as I was trying to keep it somewhat upbeat, and yet at the same time some kind of literacy for the grammar fiends out there…

I know that my recent fics have sucked ass, so I'm not expecting much. They can't all be like Pariah's Wasteland (Which has the lowest rejection ratio of all my fics, which is good for my ego)…

Anyways, enjoy. If you guys love this, check out Gore and Cigars, another The Darkness crossover of mine. It's crossed-over with Naruto, and has a different flavor than this, for the most part, so go and enjoy it.

Keep in mind that GaC is one of my older fics, so it's different from this (action-scripting, crappy dialogue)…

The songs used in this fic were (are):

Lily Allen's Back to the Start

&

En Nomine's Der Prophet (The Prophet)

Please play the songs whilst reading this. Music tends to flavor everything when it's on…

Please review, I don't care about the quality of it. Be sure to be as enthusiastic as you want to, seeing as it's all fun and games.

I love anonymous reviewers, so feel free to press the button and give me your opinion…

And here is a challenge to the readers!: find two or more of the culture references made in this fic. The songs and the Zune don't count, so look hard, and look well…


	2. Snowball

Well! This is my second chapter to mah waffle! Now, I must plead that those early fans who have latched onto this that haven't gotten any more of this story up until now. I promise you people that this kind of crap was merely due to the circumstances of the moment, and that I won't pull crap like that again… at least, until August, at best…

This is the second chappie, I hope you like it…

**~E~**

Jackie wakes up with his skin feeling very comfortable, for some reason. A cold-hot feeling races up and down his back and his hands tingle with a fresh-feeling energy. However good this feeling was, Jackie knows that he has once again been subjected to man-rape, and he feels rather foolish for not taking various factors into consideration, like his blood being like crack and xtc for Angelus and the wielders of the Witchblade. To not thinking of the effects of the blood might have on a carbon copy of the living weapon just made him feel sloppy and used.

How would _YOU_ like it if you were seen as some kind of drug for some sub-psychotic group of warrior women whose main form of excitement was ripping something apart with whatever was handy? [I] ask you.

Jackie sits up, attempting to ignore the continuing rasping chuckles of his usually ornery symbiotic master. Something warm presses against his abdomen, and Jackie groans. His eyes weren't even open and he hadn't done his habitual extrasensory sweep and he still knew what the hell that something was. He opens his eyes, and finds himself still on the boat, which looked close to the docks.

Jackie looks down, and immediately wishes he didn't.

Curled up, nice and cozy, is the strange chickypoo he saved, under his draped coat, no less. She shifts in her prone state, smiling. Now, if this isn't heart-wrenching, Jackie didn't know what was.

This was really too much like those times with Jenny… `cept this one is hot, and Jenny was a "wonderful person to be around".

'_**Such a nice picture, Jackie…**_' His dark mentor chuckled at him

'Oh, shut it,' he spat back , 'I really regret showing you humor.'

' '_**Poor Kenny; So young! so ugly!**_''

Jackie pinches his nasion. 'Don't remind me…'

The Darkness continues to yuk it up whilst Jackie runs damage control.

T-Shirt: ripped, but not much worse than before.

Jeans: Mainly intact, but the seams have been under some serious wear (gonna have to fix that eventually), so there's no telling when those are going to fall apart. Dungarees or no, they just don't make `em like they used to…

Body: Head's a little foggy, but that's just the early morning daze. Vision's a tad bleary, but that's also inconsequential. Everything seems a bit too… pleasant.

Guns: Currently digging into his side. The hogleg holsters were the greatest contributions to Jackie's gunslinging career, but sleeping with `em on- not recommended…

Boots: As comfy as ever. Been running, jumping, swimming, kicking through doors with them for a decade or so now, and they've held up even better than he has. Steer hide is definitely heads and shoulders above that reptile crap (stingray's still a must, though, for the best occasions).

K-Bar: Still in left boot, pressing against his shin, but thankfully not as torturous as the butts of the Darkness guns… Especially the Howler's…

Coat: Draped on the Cloneblade chickypoo, and looks like it has some additional stains. Seeing as it's made of the really good stuff, it's gonna be a pain to get out the smell in the weeks ahead (nothing makes a guy lose face quite like showing up smelling like he took a dip into the old whorehouse right before coming to do business ("Bros Before Hos" and all that dreck)). Still, the duster's way too indispensable, so Jackie felt he could deal with it (he wasn't one to fuss, anyways).

Jackie shuffles a little, trying to get a little loose from under the deceptively innocuous brunette. As if luck was screwing with him, the twenty-something shifts forward, further pinning him, and wraps her arms around him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was already awake.

'Okay, different course of action,' Jackie muses to himself.

He embraces the prone girl and stands up with her, slowly.

'Houston, we are now vertical.'

'_**I'd thought you liked the horizontal, Jackie…**_' The Darkness chimes in

'Shaddap' Now he was really regretting teaching his "master" how to have actual fun…

'_**Wuh-huh-huh-huh~**_'

'You annoy the crap outta me.'

'_**You say it like it wasn't obvious, Jackie...**_'

Vein throbbing in his temple, the scruffy gunslinger sighs in remorse. Oh well.

He slides his hand up her back, holding on with a firm, but gentle, grip. The black coat falls away from the brunette's slender form. Jackie's eyebrow twitches.

Now, Estacado has become a reserved man of late, due to his need to abstain and his simple life experiences around the globe. However, with his reservation came a bleeding heart kind of romanticism, due to all the pulp fictions and novellas that he had read as he stowed away for the long voyages through various strange and forbidden waters. Thus, his libido preserved itself in a vaguely Platonic way (however paradoxical that phrasing is).

As Jackie had been around women and had had relationships, he was no stranger to nudity or sex. Conversely, he had trained himself to not look at people objectively, as he had to drop it in order to survive the company of women without being drawn in by his sexual impulses. As he encountered the Cloneblades (from afar or, more recently, up close and personal), he didn't see them for the bodies they sported, but for the people they were (although he did take into account their exposure on a fairly impartial level).

In this case, though, the physical aspects of the girl pressing up against him are completely unavoidable. Now, Jackie had had women (usually streetwalkers and bar floozies) throw themselves at him before in next to nothing before, but before he had the momentary chance to slam down his emotional and psychosexual walls. With this one, he is completely unguarded due to a number of factors that Jackie is simply unable to recall due to his current situation.

It's undeniable there's a pretty woman slumping against him, head on his collar. It's unavoidable that she's harmless and without much more than a thin wall of cloth between their bodies. It's inescapable that Jackie's sympathetic for her. And it's undeniable that her sizeable, unbelievably perfect breasts are pressing against his chest with a weight that somehow communicates womanhood by feel alone.

Jackie blushes, just a bit. Inside, his mind is racing around frantically for some kind of plan or thought process. Damn he's feeling like some hormonal virgin in a reciprocated relationship.

'_**I might have phrased that better, but, yes, Jackie, you, my black mark on Earth, are panicking over a simple woman as if you hadn't been with one before. I don't know whether to kill you or laugh at your pathetic charades.**_'

The corner of Jackie's mouth twitches. 'There's the raging asshole I know and have to deal with. The punditry was getting a bit tired…'

' "_**Tiresome", Jackie. I haven't lost my edge as quickly as you constantly do…**_'

'And the rebuttal...' Jackie shot back.

The repartee helped unclog Estacado's thought process enough to where he is able to form some kind of plan. Back to getting free of this little entanglement.

The Italian-American shifts his position a little bit. He picks up the somewhat weighty girl with apparent and gentle ease (all the while not trying to remind himself of the main causes for that weight), just slightly off the floor, and carries her to the railing. He sets her down, trying to do it has slowly and without any bumping or shifting, so as not to rouse her. He might as well not have bothered so much, as she seems to be quite a deep sleeper. Funny, as she seemed to be quite the fighter however long it was ago during their first confrontation. Well, Cloneblades are moderately pampered, if the files read correctly. All groomed up to perfection, they are, and some exceed perfection as well, it seems. Again, Jackie tries not to focus on the possible circumstances of the female in front of him.

He turns and plucks his coat from the sun warmed floor, slinging it back onto his broad shoulders. He strides to the cabin door and flings it open. The other woman from before leaps back, startled, just in time as the metal door swings wide. Jackie stops the door before it can make a dent in the adjacent wall.

Jackie looks at the brunette in front of him with distant humor. "Spectating, are we?"

Like some ditzy schoolgirl, she blushes. "Um- ah…"

A voice calls from the upper deck. "Masane, are you-"

The source of the voice appears from the back door of the cabin, revealing itself to be the man from a few hours ago, the would-be rape victim. "- okay, I…"

Jackie smiles at the man.

"You. I- Up already, I see. I guess the energy expenditure wasn't too much?"

The younger man chuckles "I was passed out, sir, so I wasn't exactly an active participant." He turns, pointing to the brunette, who was now shyly standing off to the side 'Masane', was it?"

The flaky girl blinks, then straightens up, hands clasped in front of her, in some mock form of standing at attention. "Um, yes?"

Jackie smirks. "Enjoyed the view, did we?"

Masane recoils again, blushing even harder than before, and covers her mouth (for some strange reason). "Sh-shut up!"

The older man steps forward "I think you don't need to antagonize Masane for her honest curiosity." He turns his head to the beet red woman "I'd have to say I was pretty curious, too…"

The brunette jumps, now recoiling from her host. "Wh- wha-?"

Poor girl. It has to be a little rough being caught in such a strange and uncomfortable situation. However, Jackie felt like milking it a step further.

"Hey, it's not every day you see a girl getting impaled on a big ol' Italian sausage, right out there in the open. `Bet she had front seats and everything." He punctuates his statement with a playful leer.

That did it for poor Masane. She cups her mouth again, and backs up with such a speed that she easily goes ass-over-teakettle up, over, and behind the yellow sofa.

'_**I give that an 11 out of 10.**_'

'The heck you do.' If Jackie and the Darkness were on the same plane of existence at that exact moment, they would've double high-fived. They suffice by mentally grinning.

The man in the suit rushes to the flopped girl's position. "Masane! Are you alright?"

Jackie coughs. "Look, 'Reiji', it's been swell, what with boarding vessels, fixing broken girls, and out-perving people, but I've gotta hit it and I can't stick around. We'll stay in touch, mmkay? I'll call you, alright? See ya, bub. Gotta bounce."

With that, Jackie Estacado smoothly waltzes out the door into the sunshine, the door closing behind him by some invisible force. Takayama noticed the shadow of the door shrink down once Jackie had made his exit.

"Odd…"

**~S~**

Jackie pads along the deck, smirking to himself. He smoothly strides to where the prone Cloneblade Sister still lay. Her eyes flutter as she begins to "come out of it".

Swiftly, the Darkness user dips his hand within his coat. He withdraws a coin of brilliantly white metal. He holds it up to the light, but doesn't look directly at it. It's as if he doesn't want to look, as he keeps looking out to port.

Jackie looks back down at the prone and naked brunette as she opens her eyes to his sun-silhouetted form. He brings his hand back down and begins to flick the coin into the air with his thumb, spinning it.

"I don't believe it's time for us to be better acquainted just yet, miss," He says, still flipping the coin.

"Eh?" was all she could muster before the man before he flicks the coin at her with his middle and ring finger.

The coin's flat struck her dead-on, her head flying back in a daze, due to the unnatural weight of the coin, which the man was somehow able to flip, and to the strange, blanketing feeling of oblivion coating her conscious and subconscious as she began to slip back into somnambulism.

As her pretty eyelashes begin to flutter, a shadow falls over her face. Her dimming vision sharpens, focusing on this shape as much as possible. Glowing yellow eyes fill her sight, as a soft tenor voice floats into her ears.

"Let's remain forgotten until later, alright? I hate spoiling a good story as much as the next person…"

Shiori's eyes close in finality, and the dark man plucks the coin from her brow.

**~S~**

Jackie straightens up, rolling his shoulders and stowing away the coin.

"Alright. Memory wipe's outta the way. Now to get- " He remembers something.

The awfully spry 30-something runs back to the cabin, but opts for simply opening a window and poking his head in.

"Yo. Jackass. Get some cover for this girly out here. I don't think she'll appreciate the burn all down her front."

With that, Jackie withdraws and jumps off the yacht and into the water, breast-stroking to the nearby port. The sun's about to set…

When the gunslinger gets to the dock, he hauls his sodden carcass onto the wooden planks, panting. Rest or no, that was about three Olympic pool's worth of laps! He slumps against a convenient pole, leg hanging off the side of the walkway, as he watches the white boat lazily putt-putt to land, the sky beginning to darken and change to orange and gold.

**~S~**

A conservative red car comes to a stop at the curb. A dark haired woman steps out, coming down to the docking area.

"Where is she?" The woman intones.

Masane and Reiji, on the walkway near the yacht, turn to face the newcomer.

Advancing further, the woman continues "I was told Shiori came to see you."

"She did." Takayama evasively replied.

The voice of Takayama's assistant, Segawa, issues from the yacht's cabin, pained and clearly restless. "Director, is Doctor Soho here yet? She's starting to get bored and is trying to chew on my ear."

The origin of the voice appears quickly, walking out in jerking steps, as if limping. When he fully comes into view, the reason for his herky jerky movements becomes self-evident. Latching onto his shoulder, clothed in naught but an oversized blazer, is the girl in question, dragging her feet and as Segawa puts forth the admirable effort of towing the troublesome woman over the deck and across the gangplank to the walkway.

"Oh thank heavens," he gasps, "Please take her away, she's getting heavier."

Takayama steps forward just as his beleaguered assistant's legs give out, catching the menace from behind, so as to not suffer the duress of the young woman's hands and nibbling teeth.

Reina's eyes widen by a fraction. "That's-"

"Indeed," Takayama interjects.

Shiori kicks in the man's embrace before laying eyes on Dr. Soho, upon which she lets up, if still exuberant. "Doctor!"

Reina blinks. "Why is she like this? I'd have thought you'd have at least hurt her in your defense, but this isn't what I'd expected."

Takayama pauses for a second, trying to come up with a neutral answer. "Something happened after she attacked us. I don't think her condition is permanent, though."

"May I ask what?" Reina inquires.

Takayama's head sinks for a moment in exhaustion. "I honestly don't know enough to give a real explanation. At least, not in present company."

Reina frowns, then begins to press further "Wh-"

A child's voice rings out, cutting the doctor off before she can inquire further. "Hi Mom!"

A little girl appears and runs for Masane, who is standing off to the side. "Riko!"

"Riko" jumps into her mother's arms, giggling. Masane holds her as she asks "What are you doing here?"

The group on the other side of the walkway looks toward the commotion as the reunited family talk.

"Did I surprise you?" the little girl says, "I came with mister Tozawa."

"Tozawa's here too?"

The two looks over to a man leaning against the pillar about twenty feet away. "Hey. What's up?"

The mother and daughter walk towards him. They talk, and then depart.

"Th-That girl," Reina says, dazed. She blinks, snapping out of it. "Reiji, listen: I need to know exactly what happened. Broach every detail; we need to control this situation, so we all need to be informed. Shiori went AWOL due to the unstable power of her Cloneblade, and so I need to know why she's not acting impulsively-"

The girl being discussed wriggles a bit and works her mouth, trying to get at Reiji's ear like she'd tried with his unfortunate assistant. The grizzled director held her a little further away from him in response. The doctor again pauses, irked, and then continues.

"-too impulsively."

Now it's Takayama's turn to blink. "There's really not too much to say on the matter. Your 'lovely' assistant boards the ship in an overpowered form of her Blade, kills my two crewmen, and clashes with Masane. It seems that was her motivation for coming in the first place."

"That's simply the 'natural' part," Dr. Soho observes, "What happened that got Shiori to be like this? Please try not to leave out any relevant details. Scratch that; any details. I know how you pick and choose what's relevant to you when you're talking to me."

Takayama's temple throbs, but he complies. "Segawa and I intervene, so as to keep Masane from getting to hurt in her current state. In the middle of the fight, your assistant briefly overpowers Masane, sending her overboard. She turns her attention to me. At that point, some scruffy vagrant jumps onto the deck-"

"Oh really?" Reina interjects, "The railing of the deck is about three feet out of the water, give or take. Not to mention you were in the middle of the harbor, by yourself. I honestly doubt-"

"Allow me to explain. You want to know the details; I'm giving them to you. I was hesitant before because of how damn weird it was, to start with. I know next to nothing about what happened, and I'm doing my best-"

"What happened to your hubris, Reiji?" Dr. Soho interrupts mock-coquettishly, "If I didn't know better, I'd say the 'incident' affected you, too…"

"If you want me to tell you," Takayama's eyebrow twitches, "let me tell you. Somehow, some crazy bastard in a long coat makes a dynamic entrance onto the boat. He attempts to confront your assistant. She tries to attack me, at which point he incapacitates her, further damaging my boat," the beleaguered man indicates a sizeable dent in the railing of his sorry yacht. "Then he convinces me to get to safety while he deals with the problem-"

"Another fallacy; I haven't known anyone who's convinced of anything you weren't already set on."

"He was rather convincing," Takayama replies.

"Really? How so?"

"He simply had to mention Shiori's intentions for me and then threaten me in turn. It seems your assistant has some knowledge of our sordid past…"

Reina sighs. "It's not news to me. It got around eventually. Plus, Miss Tsuzuki has always been a determined woman; it's the reason I gave her the position she has. Her fanaticism is both a blessing and a curse. I got a taste of the latter today, so I wish you to be frank on this."

Swallowing, Reiji continues. "After Segawa and I are inside the cabin, Masane gets back on the boat and the strange man argues with her. Somehow, the Witchblade changes form and she enters the cabin. From there, she passes out and the Witchblade disengages. The man squares off against Shiori. As they fought, he said some things in what I think was Greek, German, and some other Eastern European language. In the excerpts that I could understand, he said something about about steel and cleansing. This seemed to affect her Cloneblade, which changed form dramatically. Soon after this, he brings her to the floor and pins her. She resists, but he fed her his blood, which somehow calmed her down. He then begins some sort of chant in some language, possibly a made up one-"

"Oh, I have confidence in this one…"

"That's hardly the point."

"Mazel tov," Shiori randomly interjects.

Reina's temple pulses. "Oh yeah, we're gonna need therapy for her."

"Nonsense," rebuts Takayama, "She's just a little dazed. Nothing a good night's sleep can't solve."

Reina seems to hold a different opinion, but holds her piece.

"Moving on. He focuses his attention on her Blade Arm, which he was somehow able to open up. What he exposed makes my stomach turn just thinking about it."

"What?" Reina intelligently says.

"It was something akin to cancer tumors. The only difference is that they were formed in a more pustular growth."

"My God, that's awful."

"You should've been there. The guy somehow popped and vaporized the entire infection without missing a beat. He pulls out a knife and scrapes it through your assistant's arm. I came out to confront him. We talk as he finished whatever he was doing, which seemed to take some amount of energy out of him. From what I gathered during the brief exchange, he was not completely human."

Reina raised her eyebrows. "That's hardly news to me. Hearing half of this gives me a clear picture of somebody who knows more about us and the Witchblade than we know about him."

Takayama sighs. "After that, nothing of consequence really happened."

"Really?" the doctor says, "That's for me to decide."

"It's really nothing of consequence, I promise you."

"You've made some bad calls and some crappy promises before, Reiji."

The overburdened man sighs and concedes. "Alright. Alright. The man passes out, and your assistant rapes him while he's lying there. I went back inside so I didn't have to watch. Masane spectated the two long hours of noisy intercourse, so you can feel free to bug her about that if you want." Reiji pauses, smirking on the inside, "After that, your assistant in turn passes out and the man comes to. We talk again about the inconsequential details of the incident, after which he departs."

Reina blinks yet again. "Okay. Wow. Could you please describe the man?"

"He's a Westerner, that's for damn sure. He spoke perfect Japanese, so I wasn't able to glean much about his nationality. He's pretty tall, somewhere over six feet. Long, black hair. Grey or green eyes, when he's not doing something abnormal."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they glowed yellow at times, somewhat like users of the Cloneblades and the Witchblade eyes have."

"Hm. Interesting."

"Indeed. He's pale, but has some amount from coloration from an old tan. He had calluses on his right and left index fingers, which should tell you something about his choice in careers. He's got some sort of scripted tattoo on his neck, but I wasn't close enough to tell what exactly it said. He's not very, loud, which is something new I've seen out of a Westerner. The man moves better than any of my bodyguards, so I think he's connected with a crime syndicate or recently broke from one. He talked like a negotiator, so he seems to be of the upper echelons of whatever Mafioso or drug cartel he originated from. That's as much as I can take from him, besides his taste in clothing, which seems to be mainly black, long coats, and heavy boots."

"And his name?"

" 'Jack Estacado'. I haven't heard of any 'Estacado' family before, but I'll check into my resources."

Reina finally appeared satisfied. "Thank you, Reiji. I think we'll be able to handle this efficiently now."

"There hasn't been and won't be a 'we', as far as I'm concerned. I'm going to work with you on this and this alone. As for the rest of 'us'; we're separate. Good day. Take back your dog, already; I think she misses you." With that, Takayama releases Shiori and walks back to his battered yacht.

Segawa, recently come-to, follows at the director's heels.

The two women stand there briefly. Reina then turns back to her car and walks up the incline. "Come, Shiori. We've got to get you to Nishida; I'm sure she's going to have a field day examining you."

"Pleasure," Shiori replies blithely.

"Already feeling better? I guess Reiji's prognosis wasn't total shit for once. Good man, good with numbers and theory; an utter ignoramus when it came to medicine, though."

That was all that was said between the two all the way to NSWF headquarters.

**~S~**

Segawa stands readily by the director's side as Takayama takes out his cellphone. "I'd thought you'd might like to go back home, director."

"Not by a long shot. Have to call up my boat insurance and some boat repairmen after that. When that's taken care of, we'll be heading back to headquarters to track down files on this 'Jackie' man. Something tells me we're gonna be in for the long haul…"

**~S~**

Not too far away, a familiar man stood from the shadows.

"You have no idea, man," he says.

**~E~**

Well!

I got to this later than expected (Wayy later), but I'm gonna keep on this, `cause this is mah waffle, and therefore more readily updated than my other fics (unfortunately for my other fans).

I've got some things to say, folks.

I haven't kept up on the comic of late, but when I looked it up on Wikipedia (smooth, right?) to keep some of my info straight (and to recall wtf the angle with the Witchblade and so on was), I found an interesting snippet: Apparently, Jackie had, with the help of his very own mad scientist, turned his blood into a narcotic drug. This just knocked me off my feet by how similar Top Cow's brainchildren were to mine. My God, that was so awesome.

So, in future, I'll just say that Jackie's "unrefined drug" is the big high for the Cloneblade users.

Next thing: the big ol' "Jackie has big magic" schtick is some bit of logic I coined a while back: I mean, Jackie spends his time with this wise, old, evil entity that was around when Creation was just getting started; some way, somehow, Jackie's gonna learn some amount of arcane magic and knowledge from his unscrupulous mentor. Same with the various items he carries around: he goes around the world clashing with all these strange organizations and forces and carrying on in all these adventures; he's gonna pick up a couple indispensible artifacts along the way, it's simply inevitable.

Some details to go over:

You know those guns from The Darkness, the game? I found them too awesome to toss, so I put `em in here. I've dubbed them as follows:

The Howler- the gun held in Jackie's left hand that shoots some sort of compressed sonic blast that has a long, wide radius of fire and handles like some sort of one-handed shotgun. It has a sharp point on its butt, so that's why Jackie was so bothered by it.

The Screamer- the gun held in Jackie's right hand that delivers a rapid fire series of some kind of lightning-like energy in a straight line and is much like a submachine gun. Its front is the pointy part, which is why Jackie isn't too concerned about it digging into his ribs. This is also the gun our hero used to coerce Takayama into getting the feck outta his way.

Also: I'm going to be using the personality of Jackie from the game, not the comic. As amusing as his selfish, depraved attitude is, casting him as the main character wouldn't be easy for me; if I did, half my reviewers would bitch about his being so OOC, which wouldn't be good for my pitiful self esteem. Just kidding (but seriously).

Anyways, have a fun Father's Day…


End file.
